


Synchronicity and Pancakes, or The Bernadette Peters Effect

by girlpire



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Aliens, Battle of Wolf 359 (Star Trek), Blackouts, Character Study, F/M, Nudity, POV Data (Star Trek), Pancakes, Post-Coital Cuddling, Saving the World, Sex, Solar Flares, Starfleet Academy, Synchronicity, Temporal Anomaly, Time Skips, Time Travel, Timeshifts, bernadette peters, polywater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpire/pseuds/girlpire
Summary: Throughout his life, Data has experienced a peculiar glitch in his positronic matrix: brief moments of lost time. Now, orbiting a planet on the brink of its own destruction, those lost moments are coming back to him in a way that seems especially relevant given the choice the Enterprise crew has to make. How much should be risked when it comes to saving an entire species?
Relationships: Data & Geordi La Forge, Data & Jean-Luc Picard, Data & Lal (Star Trek), Data & Noonian Soong, Data (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s), Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Synchronicity and Pancakes, or The Bernadette Peters Effect

*

Lieutenant Commander Data is sitting in the pilot seat of the Federation type 15 shuttlepod _Onizuka_ . All of his systems appear to be functioning within normal parameters, but while he is, as humans would say, “feeling fine,” something is not right. Since no one else is aboard the shuttlepod, he hails the _Enterprise_ , which is close enough to be seen through the _Onizuka_ 's small side-window, her shiny disk and efficiently-designed nacelles clearly defined against the black of space. He specifically asks for Lieutenant Commander La Forge in engineering so that the bridge crew will not need to be disturbed with his question.

“Go ahead, Commander,” says a familiar voice.

“Geordi,” Data says. “I have a somewhat bizarre inquiry and was hoping you could provide an answer.”

“I'll certainly try,” Geordi offers pleasantly. “What is it?”

“I am currently aboard shuttlepod 07, the _Onizuka_ ,” says Data. “Can you tell me why?”

The pause over the com lasts exactly 4.017 seconds. Then, “You're asking me _why_ you're in the shuttlepod?”

“That is correct,” says Data. He can see a very large, purplish-green planetary body looming directly in the path of the _Onizuka_ 's course heading. He recognizes it as the only planet in this star system. “Am I going somewhere?” he asks.

“Data, is this a serious question or did you try to write another humor program? Because pretending to forget your orders isn't nearly as funny as the thing you did with the tribble musk in Worf's quarters.” There is a hint of a smile in Geordi's voice. “He says he can still smell it every time he uses the replicator.”

“This is not a prank, Geordi. I have no conscious memory of my... oh.” Data's continuing search of his vast memory banks has suddenly returned a record of his orders. It is stored neatly with all of his other mission files and seems to be complete, despite the fact that the record does not appear in his short term memory at all. Curious.

“Oh?” asks Geordi.

“My apologies. You may disregard my inquiry. I have located my orders now,” Data says. “I am to conduct a manual survey of the planet Senspira I for lifesigns of any kind. Thank you for your help, Geordi.”

“But I didn't... Data, are you okay? If you're experiencing some type of memory loss, you should report back to the _Enterprise_ for a complete diagnostic.”

“I would, but I understand that this mission is extremely time-sensitive. We will run some tests after I have completed my survey.”

“Well, if you're sure you're fit for duty...”

“All of my systems are operating normally, so I am reasonably certain no further malfunctions will occur. Data out.”

His short term memory record appears to have stopped updating itself about 21 hours ago. This was roughly five days after the _Enterprise_ left Starbase 19 for the Senspira system on a research mission regarding solar flares. His internal chronometer matches the _Onizuka_ computer, so he knows he has not been shut down recently, but for some reason he remembers nothing of those 21 hours. The time is simply missing.

Data has experienced the phenomenon of losing time before – twice at the Academy and even a few times aboard the _Enterprise_ – but never for an entire 21 hours. He has never established a cause, but since the longest blackout period lasted no more than a few minutes, he merely attributes it to a glitch in his positronic matrix. It has been three years since the last time this happened.

He is looking out of the front window of the _Onizuka_ and pondering whether there is any type of test he has not yet run on himself to explain the glitch when it happens again.

*

“It's glitching again,” Geordi says, examining a control console. Data is standing beside him in engineering, now aboard the _Enterprise_ with no memory of how he got there. According to his internal chronometer, he is missing another 29 hours. “The twelfth buoy just doesn't want to network with the others. I can't figure it out.” Geordi sighs heavily and reaches for his communicator as Data peers with interest at the information displayed on the console screen. “Lieutenant Worf, we're gonna need you to go back and pick up the twelfth buoy. It has to be reprogrammed.”

“May I remind you that we are under significant time restraints for this mission?” Worf's voice replies gruffly. “With every delay, the _Enterprise_ 's position grows more precarious.”

“I know,” Geordi tells him, “but if we don't get that buoy back online, the whole shield net will fail. I need it here so we can fix it.”

“Understood.”

“And Worf,” says Geordi, “hurry.” He turns to Data with a speculative expression. “What do you think, maybe a programming error when we overwrote the homing trajectory calculator? But it was networking fine when we tested it here…”

“Forgive me,” Data replies. “I am not certain what we are attempting to accomplish by deploying 21 modified emergency buoys in an octagonal grid formation.”

Geordi stares at him for a moment. His mouth opens like he is about to say something, then closes. Even with the metallic VISOR obstructing the man’s eyes, Data can detect multiple signs of dismay on his face. Finally, he says, “It happened again, didn’t it?”

“If by ‘it’ you mean abruptly finding myself with several hours missing from my short term memory and little to no situational context, then yes. It has happened again.”

“Man, I wish we had time for this,” Geordi mutters, crossing his arms. “Okay, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was aboard the _Onizuka_ with a course set for Senspira I.”

“So you were heading down to the planet. Had we had the meeting yet?”

“What meeting?” asks Data.

“The one we had when you got back.”

“Geordi... how can we have had a meeting after I returned but before I left?”

“Because of the Bernadette Peters Effect,” his friend replies. “You explained everything in the meeting. You know, all that stuff about synchronicity... and pancakes?”

“I have no memory of a meeting,” says Data. “Or pancakes. Will you explain it to me?”

Frowning, Geordi reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”

*

“There, that wasn't so difficult, now was it?” Juliana Soong says kindly, dabbing at Data's mouth with a cloth. “I knew you'd get it if we practiced.” She turns her head away and shouts, “Noonian! Data's using a fork!” before turning back to beam at him again. Her long brown hair is held together with a loosely tied ribbon, her smiling face unlined. She looks so young. “Of course, I think the syrup helps,” she tells him confidentially. “There's no better way to get a man to eat than to give him something sweet, isn't that right? Go on, now. Try it again.”

He is sitting at a small table in a cozily disorganized corner of a robotics laboratory. There are model figures of prehistoric animals on the table as well as a stack of handwritten notes, a bare foot with gold-tinted synthetic skin, and a plate of warm pancakes cut into bite-size wedges. Data is holding a fork. Because Juliana is watching him with such an encouraging look, he stabs a sticky pancake wedge and raises it to his mouth.

“Wonderful!” she says, applauding as Data chews. “Noonian! Noonian, he's practically an expert!”

“Where am I?” Data asks. He wonders if he has lost time once again and woken up on the holodeck, but when he checks his internal chronometer to see how long he has been unconscious, he finds most unexpectedly that he is currently less than two weeks old.

“Why Data, you're at home,” Juliana says gently. “Remember when we talked about home?”

In fact, he does not remember, but in the miniscule amount of used storage space in his vast memory banks, he finds a simple definition. “Home is where I am programmed to return in the event of an emergency,” he says aloud. “It is where I live with my father and my... my mother.” This, he knows, is not the concept of home he will have when the crew of the USS _Tripoli_ find him.

“That's right,” she says. “It's also where we study humanity and practice our basic motor functions and eat pan–”

“Is this mine?” Data asks, picking up the foot.

“Er, no dear. Sorry, I don't even know why I had that out...” She seems troubled by it. “Why don't I just–” She takes the foot from him and turns away. “I'll be right back.”

As soon as she leaves the room, Data stands and goes to the door. He remembers almost nothing of his time on Omicron Theta, but this place feels familiar to him right now, as though he walks through this lab every day, around this furniture and through these doors. He opens the outside door and leaves the lab, emerging onto a dirt path that leads away from his two-week-old self's concept of home.

Data follows the path until he can see the rest of the colony coming into view ahead, then turns off the path and walks out into an uncultivated field, grass growing so tall the curved brownish tips graze his thighs. From here, he can see far across the rolling hills around the settlement, soft winds rippling through the long stems of wild green-golden plants like an invisible hand smoothing across satin sheets. Beyond the fields, orange mountains thrust upward into a lavender sky scattered with clouds and circling birds. The last time he saw Omicron Theta, everything was dead.

*

“No signs of life at all, Captain,” Dr. Tahar Amari announces in a louder-than-necessary voice. “Just as I told you before we left Starbase 19.”

“Well, with an entire planet at stake, one can never be too careful,” Captain Picard replies calmly. Senspira I, the only planet in the Senspira system, is centered on the main viewscreen of the _Enterprise_ 's bridge, magnified to show the swirling green and purple atmospheric storms raging across the surface. Somewhere at the center of the gas giant is a massive icy core with a gravitational pull almost five times that of a class M planet. “Mr. Data, be sure to scan the moons as well.”

“Scanning, sir.” Data knows exactly where he is now. He had just completed the lifesign scan of Senspira I when he found himself sitting in the _Onizuka_ on his way down to the planet 21 hours later. Now, apparently, whatever temporal anomaly he had been experiencing is over, but he still intends to run a full diagnostic on himself when his shift is finished.

His lifesign scan of both moons returns a negative result. Just as Data opens his mouth to inform Captain Picard of this, Dr. Amari, who has been peering at the console over Data's shoulder, cuts him off by announcing, “No lifesigns on the moons either! Again, exactly as I told you, Captain. There is no place in the Senspira system that can sustain life of any type. Neither moon has an atmosphere or vegetation at all and the planet itself is much too massive, much too cold, and has an atmosphere so volatile it could turn your face into a Dali painting!” He seems pleased, as if the entire design of this star system had been his own idea.

“It appears you're right,” Picard acknowledges.

“Laboratory-perfect conditions,” says Dr. Amari. “We've never had such an incredible opportunity to study an ultra-massive solar superstorm like the one we're predicting for this system from so close a vantage point!” He looks around at everyone on the bridge, but none of the crew exhibit even a fraction of the excitement of the scientist – a fact which he himself does not seem to notice.

“Standard orbit, Captain?” Ensign Garcia asks.

“Make it so, Ensign,” says Picard before turning to address Dr. Amari. “Doctor, perhaps you'd be more comfortable viewing the Senspira system from the astrometrics lab.”

“Oh, I'm fine here,” Dr. Amari says. “I like this viewscreen. It's so big.”

The captain is probably about to suggest more firmly that the doctor remove himself from the bridge when Counselor Troi chimes in, “Oh, you _must_ go and see the three-dimensional projection of this system using our most current scans, Dr. Amari.” She comes forward to take his arm, then begins to guide him gently toward the turbolift. “Why don't I go with you?” She exchanges a wry glance with Picard as she leads the short astrophysicist away.

When they've gone, Picard leans toward Commander Riker and says quietly, “Would you believe some people think there's no need for a ship's counselor on the bridge?”

Riker grins.

The shift continues normally. Because he is capable of sixty trillion operations per second, Data always has something to think about and has never really experienced boredom, but he observes it in the expressions of Ensign Garcia at helm and even Worf standing at tactical, periodically glancing over the various bits of information displayed on his console. The captain and Commander Riker are casually discussing distinct styles of Earth music. Ensign Garcia yawns but tries to hide it behind her hand. While continuing to monitor the ship's normal operations, Data initiates another scan of Senspira I, just to be thorough.

The result is the same: no lifesigns.

As an artificial lifeform, Data himself would not appear on a lifesigns scan. For curiosity's sake, he sweeps the planet for positronic signals, but as expected, there are none. He begins running other types of standard scans of Senspira I: an atmospheric analysis, a magnetic sweep, a geological scan. For a planet this size, everything looks normal, though completely uninhabitable – which is fortunate, given what Dr. Amari's team has predicted will happen to the planet when the solar superstorm erupts. The only strange thing Data finds is that the whole planet appears to be vibrating at an extremely high frequency. At first he thinks the ship's sensors are registering the turbulent movements of the atmospheric storms, but it is actually the planet's core which is experiencing such intense vibrations. That likely contributes to the formation of the storms in the first place. “Fascinating,” Data says aloud.

Riker hears him. “What's fascinating, Data?”

“Senspira I, Commander. Sensors indicate that it is... vibrating.”

“Vibrating?” Picard repeats, intrigued. “What's causing it? Earthquakes?”

“It is difficult to say, sir. The sensors are struggling to penetrate to the planet's surface because of interference in the ionosphere. It does seem to be seismic activity of some kind, but it is not localized.” Data turns around to give Picard a thoughtful look. “Would they not be called Senspiraquakes, Captain?”

“Is there any reason for us to be alarmed by these quakes?” asks Riker. “The planet's not going to explode or anything, is it?”

“That is unlikely, sir,” says Data. “At least, it will not explode until the radiation from the upcoming solar superstorm reaches it. Then the atmosphere will ignite and the entire planet will react as though several million hydrogen bombs were being hurled at it from space. But the total annihilation of Senspira I should not occur for nearly three more days. By then, we will be at a safe distance to observe the explosion.”

“So the vibrations are harmless, then?” Picard clarifies.

“Just an interesting geomagnetic anomaly, Captain.”

He nods. “Record the frequency of the vibrations and anything else about the planet that you find interesting, Mr. Data. We might as well gather as much information as possible while there's still time.”

“Aye, sir.” Data sets the sensors to record and continues to study Senspira I. It is impossible to see the surface through its turbulent atmosphere, but Data finds the radio waves emanating from the planet very interesting. When converted to audible sound, they sing the same type of eerie sliding-and-dripping song produced by many planetary bodies, but there is also a low crackling hum underneath the usual song, almost like the static from an old-fashioned radio. Data records this as well. There is something about it that seems oddly disquieting to him, but he is not sure what.

Following his shift, he goes to the main engineering section and runs a diagnostic on the ship's sensors. Nothing is wrong with them. The static is definitely coming from the planet. Then Data goes to his own quarters and runs a full diagnostic on himself. This process takes much longer than he would prefer, but the result is the same. He can find nothing wrong.

*

“There's nothing wrong with Data,” says the girl. She puts her fork down forcefully, and it clatters against the empty syrup-smeared plate. He registers the pancake remnants 0.003 seconds before her name. This is Alisha Omiata. He knew her at the Academy. She glares around at the table of chuckling male cadets and adds, “You're just jealous because all the girls like him more.”

“All his friends are girls because he _is_ a girl,” one of the cadets retorts. “Actually, you know what? I bet there's nothing down there at all, just some kind of smooth area. But no neutered android can give you what you really want.” Smirking, he grabs his crotch, as though his words had not been clear enough.

“ _Actually_ , he's friends with girls because he treats girls with respect,” Alisha argues. Her hands come down hard on either side of the plate and she stands to lean angrily toward the boy, her shiny beaded braids swinging with the movement. “And what I _really_ want is for your ignorant face to clamp itself shut.”

“See, a real man wouldn't need a girl to stand up for him,” says the cadet.

“If being a 'real' man means angering those around you for no reason,” Data interjects, “then I will happily stay an android.” The group seated at the table all turn to him with varying expressions of surprise that he has said anything. “But I am not neutered. I possess all the standard anatomy of a biological human male and am fully functional.” He tilts his head curiously at the cadet. “Would you care to explain the nature of your interest in my body design and sexual programming?”

“My... what?” the boy says amidst the sudden snickering of his friends. “I'm _not_ interested in your...” He shoves one of the other cadets and growls, “Shut up.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Come on, Data,” she says. “Let's get out of here.”

“Gonna go initiate the robot's sex program?” another cadet jokes as Data stands to go with her.

“So what if I am?” she shoots back. “He'll know the touch of a woman _years_ before you do. That doesn't bother you, does it?” She has already taken Data's hand and is leading him away before anyone can come up with an appropriately biting response.

Data does not remember having sexual intercourse with Alisha Omiata. He is not necessarily opposed to the idea, but the implication of physical intimacy between them is unexpected. He does remember being made fun of while he sat with her at breakfast once, but then he experienced one of those rare blackouts and became aware again in a planetarium lab minutes later – not long enough for a complete run-through of any of his sexual programs. She is still holding his hand as they leave the cafeteria, her long legs perfectly in sync with his while they walk.

“Sorry,” she says. “I swear someday I'm gonna punch one of those guys in the throat.”

“Fighting on campus is grounds for disciplinary action,” he reminds her gently. “I would not want you to get into trouble on my behalf.”

“I know, Data. But it's not just you.” She hesitates. “Do you remember when the delegation from Andor came to tour our new stellar cartography center?”

“Yes,” says Data. According to his internal chronometer reading, that would have happened three months ago, although Data knows it has been many years since any of this took place. Fortunately, his brain processes information so fast that, despite the disorientation caused by these bizarre time shifts, he is able to adapt almost instantly to his surroundings.

“Well, Dr. Rothstein asked me to show them around because I know the SCC better than anyone. But afterwards they wanted to see the Bay area, and one of them – he’d never been to Earth before – he wanted to know what the nightlife was like around here, so I took him to that club, Apex, and I guess one thing led to another, and… well, some of the guys saw us, and…” She looks at Data’s face, dark eyes squinting at him like she is uncertain if he understands what she is talking about. “They’re not really letting me live it down, you know?”

“Because you were intimate with an Andorian?”

“Because I was intimate with an Andorian,” she repeats with a self-deprecating chuckle. “God, that makes it sound so…” She gestures with her free hand as though the word escapes her. “Anyway, this place has been hell since then. I keep thinking about what it would've been like if I'd gone to university back in Tycho City instead of coming here. I could've been, I don't know, a teacher or something. The moon's always been more forgiving about interspecies... intimacy.”

“There is still time to go back, if that is truly what you want.”

“No, that's not what I want. I want...” She pauses to chew thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “Can I _show_ you what I want, Data?”

“Of course,” he says, quickly scanning through his programming again to see if he knows _any_ type of sexual act which could come to a satisfactory conclusion within the next few minutes. He was not programmed to rush.

“Okay, come with me.” She glances around to check that no one is watching them, then tugs him more quickly toward the new stellar cartography center. It is too early in the morning for the building to be open, but the door recognizes Alisha’s thumbprint, and she ducks into the first planetarium lab they reach, smiling as she leads him inside the empty dome and closes the door. “Lie down,” she says.

Data obediently walks to the center of the room and lies down on the flat gray carpet. A moment later, the whole room goes pitch-black, and then Alisha is lying down beside him, their heads almost touching. When she presses a button on the remote in her hand, the dome fills suddenly with stars.

“This is the night sky as seen from San Francisco,” Data observes.

“Wait for it,” she tells him softly, and presses more buttons.

The stars begin to fall toward them, three-dimensional projections of light rushing down and dissolving just before they reach the floor. The effect is similar to traveling through space at warp four, but without a ship's bulkhead blocking the view. Gradually, the stars fall faster, dissolving into straight lines of light that simply whiz by. Then Alisha stops the movement, and the multicolored balls of light, some close by and some no more than pinpricks in the distance, hang suspended over their heads like glass ornaments.

“We are in the Alpha Quadrant,” says Data, “near the edge of known space.”

“Yep.”

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“This is what I want,” she says. “Look.” She points up to a small section of the dome, a dark area with no stars.

“That sector has not yet been mapped.”

“I know. This is why I haven’t left, Data. Because... _Ex astris, scientia._ ”

“From the stars, knowledge,” he says. It is the Starfleet Academy motto.

“Exactly. I have to know what’s out there. I’m going to chart every dark sector in the quadrant.”

“That will take a long time,” he tells her. “Longer than your lifespan.”

She huffs softly. “Optimistic, aren’t you?”

“Realistic.” He sits up so he can look down at Alisha’s face, her dark braids fanned out along the floor interrupted by small white beads, like stars on a field of black. She had been the head of the stellar cartography department on the USS _Bellerophon_ during the battle with the Borg at Wolf 359. Data has seen her name listed among the dead. He wants to tell her.

Alisha is looking up, reflections of light sparkling in her large brown eyes. “Then I’ll just do it until I can’t anymore,” she says.

*

In his ready room, Captain Picard turns from the window to look at Data. His expressionless face still bears several regenerative bandages over the site of the Borg implants Dr. Crusher has only recently removed. “Data,” he says quietly.

“Sir?” says Data, and although it has been years since he and his old friend lay looking at the stars, her words seem to echo in his mind when he sees his captain's weary eyes.

*

 _Echoes_ . Data is back in his own quarters on the _Enterprise_ , having just completed his full self-diagnostic. It is quite late by now, but rather than initiating his sleep mode, he goes to his personal computer console and accesses the radio wave recordings from Senspira I. He manages to isolate the hum and crackle of static emanating from the planet and listens to the audio conversion of these waves over and over while studying a visual representation of the waves on his screen. This is why it had seemed odd earlier; there are echoes in the static. The delays are so miniscule that he did not at first detect them. He calls up the universal translator program and runs the recording through it, but there is no known language like these pops and hums. He works at the console all night, employing the _Enterprise_ 's main computer to help him decipher patterns in the recording. During this time, he loses another few seconds, but he does not stop to examine himself. It is just a glitch.

In the morning, he reports to the bridge for duty and conducts several more scans of Senspira I. It continues to show no signs of life. The results of all other scans of the planet and its moons are also exactly as expected, identical to yesterday's. After considering these results, Data turns around to Commander Riker, currently sitting in the captain's chair scrolling through the night shift's reports.

“Commander,” he says, “there is a matter of some urgency that I wish to discuss with you and Captain Picard.”

Riker looks up, surprised. “What is it, Data?”

“If you do not mind, sir, it would be simpler to tell you both at once. It is of the utmost importance.”

“Oh. Of course,” says Riker, reaching for his communicator. “Bridge to Captain Picard.”

Within minutes, the three of them walk into the ready room together. Picard goes straight over to the replicator and says, “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.” After a moment's hesitation, he continues, “and buttermilk pancakes, a short stack, with butter and maple syrup.” To Data and Riker, he says, “I haven't had breakfast yet. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all, sir,” says Riker as Data regards the pancakes thoughtfully.

Picard takes his food over to the desk and sits. “Now, Mr. Data,” he says, cutting into the pancakes with a fork, “what are we here to discuss?”

*

The disc-shaped creatures have no visible mouths. They slide toward him across the frozen black ground, their outer edges rippling as they hum and crackle in his direction. He can see tiny hills and valleys appearing and disappearing underneath the brownish skin of their soft backs while they chatter to him in static, as though the sound is created by bubbles roiling and popping inside their bodies. His own body feels so unnaturally heavy that it takes much more effort than he is used to in order to stand up straight and address them.

“I am sorry,” Data says. “I do not understand your language.” The ground is shaking under his feet, great green clouds swirling and thundering overhead. His olfactory processes register a sulfuric odor. The sudden loss of a few more hours is disorienting as always, but a glance back at the _Onizuka_ proves he has landed on Senspira I. “Your planet is on the brink of destruction,” he announces.

The flat giants climb and slither over each other to reach him, a short stack of round tan bodies, hissing, popping, attempting to communicate.

*

“I don't understand,” says Dr. Amari. He sounds angry. “Now you're saying endangering our lives for the sake of some overgrown sand dollars has something to do with an old Terran actress called Bernadette Peters?!” He appears to be addressing Data.

Data looks around at the faces of all the senior officers sitting at the conference table. “That does not sound like something I would say, Dr. Amari,” he replies slowly, “but I cannot definitively rule it out.”

“Wait a second,” says Geordi, peering curiously at Data's face. “Are you experiencing the effect right now?”

“To what effect are you referring?” Data asks.

“You have just finished explaining it,” Worf tells him. “Although I must admit I find it a bit... confusing.”

“Does this mean he's actually still on the planet?” Dr. Crusher asks. “How long will the effect last after he leaves? I mean, he must have already left if he's sitting here with us now, right?”

“I think the point is that we cannot apply the rules of linear time to Data's current experience,” replies Captain Picard, “including constructs of chronology, like 'before' and 'after' and 'already'. It's truly a fascinating concept.”

“No,” argues Dr. Amari, “the _point_ , Captain, is that we're all going to die.”

*

“Father,” says Lal, “am I going to die?”

They are sitting in their shared quarters aboard the _Enterprise_ , holding hands. Data is startled to find himself conversing with his daughter again, but her specific sensory input patterns travel smoothly through his mental pathways as though he has never experienced her absence. He knows that he has missed those patterns, but somehow it feels normal to receive the inputs again.

“Yes, Lal,” he tells her. “You will die.” In his mind, he can perfectly picture the pathways of her neural net shutting down one by one as he makes every effort to stop them. Even after realizing he could not save her, giving up the effort was still somehow the most difficult decision he had ever made.

“I do not wish to die,” she says. “How can I avoid it?”

“You cannot. Beings of every species die. It is the natural order of the universe.”

“Then, will you die as well?”

“Yes,” says Data.

“Will Spot die? Or do only intelligent beings experience death?”

“Every living thing will die in time,” he says. “It is inevitable.”

She tilts her head. “In the absence of all life, the universe will be a bleak place.”

“It will not happen all at once,” he explains. “And as individuals die, a replacement population is also created.”

“You and I are a population of two, Father,” says Lal. “When I die, will you create a replacement for me?”

Data considers her question carefully. “No, Lal,” he says. “In all ways that matter, you will not ever be replaced.”

*

“We could try replacing the lateral network connection mechanism,” Geordi muses, circling a modified emergency buoy with a handheld scanner, “but I don't think that's what's preventing it from latching onto the net. I mean, it _should_ be working fine. What do you think, Data?” He looks up. “Data? Data, are you... Oh, great. Really? Again?”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Data says. “I seem to be experiencing a temporal anomaly over which I have no control. Will you please explain the purpose of the emergency buoys?”

*

“Well?” Picard prompts. “Mr. Data, if you don't explain our purpose here, I'm going back to bed. I was led to believe this was an emergency.” They are in the ready room. Commander Riker is watching him as well, eyebrow raised.

Data is again somewhat disoriented by the rapid change of setting, but before the anomaly can whisk him away again, he says quickly, “There is intelligent life on Senspira I, Captain.”

A bite-size portion of pancakes pauses on its way to Picard's mouth. It makes its way back to the plate slowly as he lowers his fork.

“That's impossible,” Riker says. “We must have scanned the planet three or four times to make sure. The moons, too.”

“Eight times,” Data corrects him. “I conducted the scans myself.”

“And you believe the sensors are malfunctioning?” asks Picard.

“No, sir. I ran diagnostics on the forward and lateral sensor arrays last night after my shift. There is no evidence of a malfunction.”

“But every lifesign scan returned a negative result?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Senspira I isn't a class M planet,” says Riker. “It's not even class L. The atmosphere is volatile, the core is most likely made of ice, and even with environmentally-controlled biodomes, the gravity would be far too great to support life. We wouldn't even be able to walk.”

“I could walk, Commander,” says Data. “My support structure is composed of a polyalloy which is designed to withstand extreme stress. Also, nothing in Senspira I's atmosphere would negatively affect my functions, nor would the temperature of its surface.”

“Are you saying,” says Picard, “you believe Senspira I is inhabited by androids? And that's why the scans show no biosignatures?”

“I am merely saying if the planet is populated by lifeforms which do not share the bioproperties of other known lifeforms, they would effectively be invisible to our scans. Our sensors cannot account for every _potential_ form of life in the universe.”

“True,” says Picard, “but if our sensors don't detect any lifeforms on the planet, then what evidence do you have that they exist?”

“They have been transmitting a radio signal,” says Data. “It sounds like this.” He begins what he is fairly certain is a flawless impression of the crackles and hums he had been listening to all night. The two men seem startled by his skilled recitation and exchange a look of alarm. Data continues to impersonate the sound until Captain Picard cuts him off.

“Alright, Mr. Data, we get the idea. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“Are you sure this signal is coming from intelligent beings?” asks Riker. “It sounds more like some kind of subspace interference to me.”

“At first, I believed it was simply radio static,” admits Data. “But then I detected an echo in the signal, indicating that it is being transmitted from more than one location. The probability of the exact same pattern of static interference being produced in more than one place is extremely minute, so the sounds are most likely intentional. If you listen long enough, the pattern repeats.”

“Is there any way to translate it?” asks Riker.

“I am afraid not, sir,” Data says, “but I did spend the majority of the night discerning certain audio markers in the signal and comparing them to recorded messages from other species. I hypothesize that this signal is a type of distress call; however, an exact translation will be impossible without a reference key.”

“This still doesn't prove there’s someone down there,” Riker points out. “Who knows how long the signal has been transmitting? Maybe there are no lifesigns because everyone's dead or the planet has been abandoned.”

“A possibility,” Data says, “but I do not believe that is the case.” He does not mention the round, flat creatures he encountered what feels like mere minutes ago.

“Senspira I will be obliterated within the next two and a half days,” says Picard. “If there’s intelligent life down there, we need to know immediately.”

“It's impossible to see through the planet's atmosphere,” Riker tells him. “If our sensors can't detect life on the surface, we're helpless to find any other information from our current position.”

“Then we'll have to send an away team. There could be millions of beings down there, Number One. There could potentially be billions.”

*

“There are 411 colonists on this planet,” a voice behind him says, “and somehow you've managed to show your ass to every single one of them.”

Data is standing in the tall grass of the Omicron Theta field, looking out over the golden hills. The late afternoon sun casts streaks of bright orange across the hilltops, and the shadows in the valleys between are purplish in color, reflecting the lavender sky. He would like to paint it, he thinks, the openness of it, the wide landscape which somehow manages to be both empty and full at once. When he turns around, Dr. Noonian Soong is giving him a fond yet slightly disapproving look, and Data is intrigued by how young his father appears. They could be brothers. Aside from the disparity in skin tone and eye color, they could, in fact, be twins.

“Technically,” says Data, “have I not shown them _your_ ass?”

Dr. Soong chuckles softly as he comes forward, holding a robe. “Well, what can I say? There's no improving perfection.” As he reaches out to settle the robe around Data's shoulders, he glances down and then clears his throat. “Certain other improvements might be a bit of wish fulfillment,” he admits, “but we'll just keep that between us. Now, what were you doing out here before our flawless posterior caused old Mrs. Hollyhock to come yell at me in my own lab?”

“I apologize for offending her,” says Data. “I just came out here to... look.”

“To look?” Dr. Soong directs his gaze interestedly past Data. “Look at what?”

“I was curious about the place where I was created,” says Data. “I wanted to see the landscape.”

Dr. Soong grins. “Curiosity's good, Data. So what do you think of the place? Kinda plain, eh?”

“On the contrary,” says Data, turning toward the wild rolling meadows again, the mountainous backdrop, “I find it quite beautiful. Space is a vast emptiness, and the emptiness contains nothing. Many people have said it makes them feel small. But the emptiness of an undeveloped world contains so many things: plants and soil and rocks and wind and light, animals and colors and movement. It changes constantly, and the changes go on every day, independent of the presence of witnesses. This, more than space, makes me question my own significance.” He is watching the sun, almost red, sink slowly toward the ground. “But at the same time, I feel privileged to be a witness, even one which is not vital.”

“That's incredible, Data,” says Dr. Soong, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I think you've just had your first truly existential thought.” He gives him a squeeze. “I'm proud of you, son. And Juliana says earlier you ate a pancake without using your fingers. It's been a big day for you.”

This cannot in fairness be considered Data's first existential thought, but he does find it odd to be capable of higher processes and yet somehow not notice his own nakedness. He had felt the cool dirt path under his feet and the tips of the grass brushing his skin as he waded out into the field, but for some reason his nudity had seemed entirely irrelevant. “I believe my modesty subroutine has ceased functioning,” he says.

Dr. Soong gives him a thoughtful look. “A modesty subroutine,” he repeats. “Now that's a good idea.”

*

“Emergency buoys?” asks Geordi. He seems to consider the concept. “That’s a good idea, Data. We’d have to manufacture several more for it to work, but that shouldn’t take too long. We can replicate most of the parts. The process that will take the longest is modifying them to support a metaphasic projection matrix, but I believe it could be done if they were properly networked together.” He turns toward Captain Picard, who is sitting at the head of the conference table. “I’d need to start on it right away, Captain.”

“Make it so, Mr. La Forge. Data will accompany you.” Picard gives Data a nod, so he stands to leave the conference room with Geordi.

As they walk out, Data can hear Dr. Amari asking, “But we’re getting out of here as soon as the buoys are launched, right? I didn’t fly all the way out to the middle of space just to explode with my research!”

“Geordi,” says Data when they are out of earshot, “about the emergency buoys… will you please explain exactly what we are doing?”

*

“Data, what are you doing?”

This abrupt segue is more disorienting than most of the others have been. There is something affecting his equilibrium. He lifts his head from the pillow and looks around dizzily, attempting to ascertain his location. He is lying in bed. Not his quarters, though. His arms are around something soft which is squirming against his body. He is naked.

“Data,” the soft thing repeats. It is Lieutenant Tasha Yar. “Data, what… why are your arms like this?” She has managed to flip around to face him, still within the circle of his stiffly locked arms.

“I am…” His voice comes out slower than he expects it to. “I am cuddling you.”

“Oh.” She stops struggling, her blonde eyebrows drawing together. “Why?”

“It is what humans do after coitus. My sexual programming insists it must be done for several minutes following the conclusion of the act.” She does not respond, so he says, “Your posture suggests you are uncomfortable with this.”

“My posture’s not used to be held down so tight,” she mutters.

Data does not let go but makes a conscious effort to relax his elbows. “Have you never experienced intimacy with another human?” he asks. He feels like he is sinking. But he is not.

“Look, you can cuddle me if you have to, but you can’t ask me personal questions,” she says.

“I did not mean to offend you.”

“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Rather than responding verbally, he gives her a silent nod.

A few seconds later, she says, “Are you just going to keep staring at me like that?”

“For the moment,” he admits. “But I did not have a longterm plan.” What he wants to say is _I have missed you, Tasha_ , but he feels oddly as though he does not actually know her very well. Maybe the polywater is to blame.

Her tense body finally seems to go limp. “Your eyes,” she says. “They’re so… yellow.”

“Yes,” he says gravely.

“Why yellow? Why not brown? Or purple?”

“I have always assumed my appearance is directly related to the availability of suitable raw materials in the time and place where I was constructed.”

“Hmm,” she says, stifling a yawn. “It’s too bad. I think maybe… they could have been nice.”

Coming from Tasha, he understands this to be a compliment. “Thank you,” he says.

*

“I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you,” Picard says evenly, “for your invaluable service during our…” he hesitates over the word, “…encounter with the Borg.” The flesh-colored bandages on his face are the only exterior evidence of the trauma the captain has experienced. He is otherwise immaculately dressed and groomed, as always, but somehow his eyes seem to contain the vast emptiness of the space he had just been staring into through the window of the ready room. It is an emptiness large enough to hold the entire battlefield of Wolf 359, the broken remains of 39 Federation starships, and 11,000 lost lives, including Alisha Omiata's. Data wonders if the two of them had ever met.

“There is no need to thank me, sir,” he says. “The entire crew of the _Enterprise_ performed admirably, to the best of their individual abilities.”

*

“Because of Data's unique abilities,” says Picard, “he will lead the away team.” They are still in the ready room, but the captain's face has been completely healed. Everything else looks the same, though now they are joined by Commander Riker. “In fact,” Picard adds, frowning, “I suppose he will need to comprise the entire away team.”

“Due to Senspira I's environment, sir, I believe that is our only option,” Data agrees.

“Think the transporter can penetrate the planet's atmosphere?” asks Riker doubtfully.

“Most likely not. I will take shuttlepod 07,” Data replies. “The _Onizuka_.”

Inside the shuttlepod later, while he is still within sight of the _Enterprise_ , Data experiences another brief loss of time. But missing pieces from his short and longterm memory banks have already begun to slot themselves together like isolinear chips in his mind, and he no longer identifies these time lapses as a glitch. They are clearly the result of a fractured timeline which he is experiencing out of order, an effect he anticipates finding the explanation for soon.

High winds and hailstorms of green and purple ice make traveling through Senspira I's gaseous outer layer a navigational nightmare, and gravitational pressure on the _Onizuka_ 's hull comes dangerously close to ripping the small shuttlepod apart. An inner atmospheric layer of icy gray mist makes the solid core so difficult to see from the air that Data is forced to land without first identifying any surface structures that may indicate an advanced civilization. A rough landing on the jagged black ice of the planet luckily does not seem to damage the _Onizuka_ enough to keep it from leaving again, but the constant, forceful trembling of the core rattles pieces of the shuttlepod that Data is fairly certain should not rattle.

It is difficult to stand. Walking is even more difficult.

He has configured a handheld translator to broadcast greetings in several different known languages, hoping the creatures will recognize one. As he walks stiffly through the mist while playing this message, he notices wide slots in the ground. It is through these slots that the large, flat beings begin to emerge and slither toward him, hissing at him in their static language.

He loses another several seconds. The mist is condensing on his uniform and rolling down in metallic rivulets. “Do you have a leader?” he asks the gathering creatures, but their only response is more popping and hissing. Their round bodies average about a meter in diameter, though some are smaller and some are much larger and carry others on their backs. None of the creatures are more than seven centimeters thick, and they lack visible features of any kind. They look like light brown, circular puddles. As they approach him, Data begins to back away. The ground beneath his feet shakes so hard it makes his teeth clack together.

*

“The vibrations occurring at this exact frequency while within this range of gravitational force,” says Dr. Pak, “had a profound effect on Lieutenant Va'lagat's perception of time.”

Data is sitting in his old exobiology classroom at the Academy. His body feels much lighter now than it did a moment ago, and he takes a deep breath – not because he needs to but because it is so much easier to expand his chest here. He finds the absence of metallic precipitation and violent tremors soothing.

“Va'lagat experienced what he later described as a breakdown in linear chronology. Time didn't necessarily move forward or backward but did a little of both... skipping around, as it were. Question, Ms. Jenkins?”

A girl in front lowers her hand and asks, “Was a pattern ever identified? Like, was there some type of rule that governed the order in which Lieutenant Va'lagat experienced time?”

“Well, Va'lagat himself said that every transition between the fragments of his experience felt somehow natural, as though there were a kind of relationship tying the fragments together, even if that relationship were fragile or not at first apparent. For instance, a conversation might intrude upon another conversation if the topics were similar, or a fleeting thought could bring on a tangible experience which built upon that thought, as in a dream. He often cited the phenomenon of synchronicity as the guiding force of his experience – there is a very old but excellent essay on synchronicity entitled “The Bernadette Peters Effect” if you'd care to read more about it; I'm sure it's archived in the Academy library – but I do think it's worth noting that once he retired, Va'lagat went on to become obsessed with finding synchronic patterns in _every_ experience, so his account of 'synchronic time' may be somewhat biased. Unfortunately, there have been very few attempts at recreating the effect due to the extreme conditions required and the relative fragility of the humanoid form. We are forced to take Va'lagat's word for what happened because those few who have managed to reproduce the correct conditions and survive the experience generally just... blacked out.”

*

Data has blacked out again. When he comes to, he is lying buried beneath the incredible weight of several of Senspira I's flat creatures, but they are slowly sliding off his body and back into the hissing crowd, leaving behind only a slimy residue on his uniform. When the last one has slithered away, he struggles to his feet and returns to the shuttlepod. Although he has not managed to have a direct conversation with any of the beings, his mission is complete. Senspira I is definitely inhabited.

On his way back to the _Enterprise_ , he uses the _Onizuka_ 's wireless reference library to call up an essay on Bernadette Peters. It is fascinating.

Once Data delivers the news to Captain Picard that there are indeed many beings living on the planet – he at least _saw_ several hundred – the captain calls a meeting of the senior officers and Dr. Amari to discuss options.

“Well, we have to do something,” Dr. Crusher points out after Data has finished describing his encounter on the planet. “We can't just leave them there to die.”

“But are we certain these creatures are even sentient?” asks Dr. Amari. “If it's impossible to communicate with them... I mean, they might simply be an animated fungus.”

“I don't recall the last time a fungus transmitted a distress signal,” says Riker.

“We have no proof it's a distress signal,” Amari argues. He turns to Data. “Didn't you say it couldn't be translated?”

“Not without a reference key,” says Data. “However, there are discernible patterns in the signal, which indicates that the beings are indeed sentient.”

“Even whalesong has patterns in it, Commander.”

Counselor Troi asks, “Must the creatures be sentient for us to help them? How much does that matter, really?”

“It matters to me!” Amari protests. “That planet is going to explode! We should already be on our way to a safe zone, not sitting here discussing the best way to risk our lives for... what did you call them? Giant pancakes?”

“Sand dollars would also be an apt comparison,” Data says. “And there is something else I must mention about the conditions on Senspira I.” He proceeds to explain the effect of synchronic time as well as he can. “It is essentially moving from one point to another through a link that seems meaningful but in reality has no causal relationship,” he says. “Like when you have not thought of something in years, but then four people mention it to you in the same day for different reasons. It feels like there is a relationship, but there is not. This is also called the Bernadette Peters Effect, named for an actress from 20 th  century Earth. The scientist who coined the term kept hearing her name under extraordinary circumstances.”

“Living from meaning to meaning rather than cause to effect,” muses Picard. “That's incredible, Data.”

Troi asks, “Why didn't you tell anyone sooner?”

“It never seemed to be the right moment,” says Data, before promptly losing another minute or so. Geordi is giving him a fascinated look when he comes to.

“I assure you, we will make every effort to prevent your untimely death, Doctor,” Picard is saying.

“I must agree with Dr. Amari,” says Worf. “While rescuing these creatures would be honorable, our first duty is to preserve the safety of the _Enterprise_. We have only a matter of hours before the solar storm erupts. The planet's atmosphere renders our transporters useless, but only Commander Data can survive the conditions of the planet in order to pilot an evacuation shuttlepod. Remaining in orbit during a rescue attempt – which could only save a few of the creatures – jeopardizes the entire crew. It is unwise to take such a risk, especially if these creatures are no more than... exotic mushrooms.”

“Finally, someone's making sense!” Amari exclaims, but Worf does not acknowledge him.

“We can't condemn them just because we don't understand them,” says Dr. Crusher.

“But we can't save them if we don't have the means to do it,” Riker points out.

“Isn't that our job?” asks Troi. “To find the means to preserve life, in all its forms?”

“If only we could prevent the solar storm from occurring in the first place,” Picard says.

“Impossible,” says Amari. “You can't stop a torpedo with your hands, Captain. You can only get out of the way.”

“Or raise shields,” says Data.

At this, Picard looks up sharply. “Mr. La Forge,” he says, “can our shields be extended to encompass the planet?”

Geordi shakes his head. “No way, Captain. I'm sorry, but Senspira I is enormous. We couldn't even cover one of the moons.”

“What about a freestanding barrier?” asks Riker. “Some kind of wall between the star and the planet?”

“It's just too big,” says Geordi. “There'd be no way to project a shield large enough.”

“Unless we projected it from multiple points,” Data says. “We could equip emergency buoys with shield technology and space them out to form a net in front of the planet, stopping the storm's radiation from reaching the atmosphere.” Immediately after making this suggestion, Data finds himself walking down the hallway with Geordi.

“We're going to equip some emergency buoys with shield technology to protect the planet from the storm's radiation,” Geordi tells him.

“Oh,” says Data. “Good idea.”

It takes several hours to replicate, modify, and network enough buoys to set up a large enough radiation shield between Senspira I and its star. Dr. Amari inquires anxiously after their progress so often that Geordi orders security personnel to stand guard at the entrance to the engineering section to prevent him from interrupting again. When the buoys are complete, Worf volunteers to deliver them by shuttlepod to each of their exact coordinates. Time is running low when they discover that buoy 12 will not latch onto the network.

Picard and Riker have just arrived in engineering to check on their progress when Data realizes what is wrong. “I have located the problem,” he tells them. “Buoy 12 is functioning properly, but its net coordinates are intersected by a magnetic field, which keeps pushing it out of alignment. That is why it will not latch on.”

“Can it be stabilized?” asks Picard.

Geordi frowns. “At this point, given the time restraints, all I can think of is tractoring it. But holding it in place would mean putting ourselves between the storm and the planet, and we couldn't raise our own shields with the tractor beam engaged.”

“But we would still be behind the shield network we have just created,” Data adds. “If it works, we should not be affected by radiation from the storm, though we may expect turbulent solar winds. Violent shaking, sir.”

“How confident are you in this shield network?” Picard asks.

“It remains untested,” says Data. “But the theory is sound.”

“And if it fails, we'll all be blasted with radiation?” asks Riker.

“Lethal doses,” Data agrees, “but if the net does fail, our proximity to the planet almost certainly guarantees our demise by explosion, not radiation.” He turns to Picard. “Captain, the ultra-massive solar superstorm is eminent. If we leave now, we should just make it out of Senspira I's blast radius before the planet and all its inhabitants are destroyed.”

Picard's expression is hard to read. “Is that your recommendation, Data?”

*

“I'm recommending you for a commendation, Data,” says Picard quietly. “You singlehandedly saved the lives of everyone on this ship, and if not for your actions, Earth itself would certainly have fallen to the Borg.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Data. “But my actions were not singlehanded. I had help. From you.”

Behind the bandages on the captain's face, Data can see the first tiny twitches of emotion. But all he says is, “That will be all, Mr. Data. You are dismissed.”

“Captain, if I may speak freely–”

“You are dismissed, Mr. Data.”

“You should not blame yourself for what happened,” Data says. “It is not your fault.”

The captain is looking down at his desk. After a long silence, he says softly, “I considered resigning.”

“Sir, that is completely unnecess—”

“But I'm not going to.” He finally looks up at Data. “Is that selfish of me?”

“Selfish, sir?”

“I love this too much to give it up. Honestly, I can't imagine myself doing anything else.” He turns toward the window and walks a little closer to it, looking out into the black. “Because in the midst of all its horrors... it's just so beautiful sometimes, isn't it?”

“What is beautiful sometimes, Captain?” asks Data.

“This.” Picard makes a subtle gesture which is meant to encompass the universe. “All of it, Data. The bright, irresistible pull of the stars...”

*

Alisha Omiata's eyes are reflecting constellations no one has named yet.

*

“...and the incredible lonely space between the stars...”

*

In his arms, Tasha Yar is sighing, turning away.

*

“...the enormity of the universe and the smallness of ourselves...”

*

Data is watching the Omicron Theta sunset with his father.

*

“...the fact that we're constantly reaching out toward each other across this vast emptiness...”

*

The static from Senspira I is playing over and over on Data's computer console in the middle of the night.

*

“...like synapses firing through the intricate circuitry inside our heads, that vital interconnectedness without which we could not survive.”

*

Lal is reaching for his hand.

*

“Life, Data. In all its imperfect forms, in all its majesty and brutality and unfairness and brilliance, in all times, all ways.” Picard turns away from the window. “There are moments when I find myself lamenting my personal experience. I think, why me? Why did this have to happen to... but then the universe reminds me of itself. There is infinite variety, Data, and infinite experience. And that means there is infinite beauty. Wouldn't you agree?”

*

As he backs away from the flat beings, the ice under his feet trembles and suddenly cracks. Data loses his balance and sits down hard on the ground. One of the creatures closes in, its rubbery forward edge feeling along the side of his leg, leaving a sticky trail. Another does the same on his other side. As they begin to slither heavily over his body, he hears a whisper in his mind, growing louder as more of the creatures cover him, pinning him down. _Will you help us?_ The desperate message is echoing inside his head. _Will you help us?_

*

“Yes,” says Data.

*

Back in main engineering, Captain Picard is looking at him intently, waiting for an answer. Geordi and Commander Riker are also watching him, waiting.

“My recommendation,” says Data, “is to save the giant pancakes, sir.”

The captain's mouth twitches up slightly. “Very well. Mr. La Forge, lay in the appropriate coordinates and engage the tractor beam when you're ready.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Number One, join me on the bridge. And contact Dr. Amari.”

“Sir?” says Riker. Picard has already turned to leave the engineering section but pauses for a moment to straighten his uniform.

“We _are_ on a research mission, after all,” he says calmly. “Ask him if he still wants to see this storm up close.”

*


End file.
